Patria's Champion
by ApolloNico24601
Summary: Patria pays her respects to the barricade.
1. Fallen Apollo

_***This is my first ever fanfic so please be nice. I'm sorry its short, I'm considering making an E&E sequel but I'll see how good the reviews are. :-)***_

_**Copyright: Unfortunately 'Les Miserables' doesnt belong to me it belongs to Cameron Mackintosh and Victor Hugo. *ITS NOT FAIR!***_

**Patria's Champion**

The barricades were silent when dawn came. The morning sunlight slipped over the rooftops, bathing the tragic scene in a golden light. Atop the barricade, a lone body lay. His golden buttons on the red vest were highlighted by the sun, and his golden hair shone. Under his perfect eyelids, his blue eyes once filled with such passion, were now lifeless. The lips that once spoke words of a world of freedom and peace, would never move again. The fallen Apollo lay still. A bullet wound in his chest was the cause of his un-needed death. His name: Enjolras. His comrades lay around him, the parisian streets stained with their blood. In the shadows in the alley, a street girl sat, watching. With her matted brown hair and dirty skin, she looked one of the regular _gamine_. But if you loooked closer, you would see beauty under the dirt. Her eyes were a startling green colour. Her red lips were chapped, yet held within a voice of angels. Her hands were dirty, yet petite and smooth. She wore a cap typical of the gamin and a tattered maids dress. Her eyes were full of grief for the fallen men. She rose and walked along the cold, wet pavement. Her barefeet made no sound. She stopped at the body of a young child. She bent down and kissed his forehead.

'Thank you brave Gavroche, your death was not needed here.' she smiled sadly down at the body. A brigh white light beamed on the child. His valiant spirit had fled. She did the same for all of the fallen men. For Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Feuilly, Grantaire, the list went on. She kissed the cold forehead of Bahorel, before gazing sadly up at her fallen hero. She climbed up he barricade and lay a hand on his pale head. She caressed his face sadly and kissed his stone lips.

'This is not your time my champion.' she sighed. 'Not yet.'

She climbed to the top of the barricade and gazed down at the ruins of her proud army. Then she raised her head and cried to the heavens.

'These brave men fought under the name of Patria! Therefore by Patria they will be rewarded! Hear me Paris, I will never abandon the gamin!'

She then took a step of the edge of the barricade and disappeared in a ray of sunlight. Suddenly, the sleeping Apollo took a gasp of breath. His sparking, sky blue eyes flew open. The champion lived again.


	2. The Champion Wakes

_**I'm sorry its short, most of my chapters will be (if I write anymore) because I don't have much time to write, but I was motivated by my fist review, so I decided to write another. Please please please review! I don't mind critics! :-p**_

_**Copyright: *sniffs* I'm sorry to anounce that Les Miserables doesn't belong to me... I can dream though can't I?**_

**Enjolras POV**

I gasped as the cold morning air hit my lungs. I opened my eyes. The sky was blue but the fog was thick. The sun stained the rooves of Paris. There was an excruciating burning pain in my chest. Every breath was painful. I tried to remember.

_Gunfire tore across the barricade. Cries of agony richocheted through the street. Smoke filled the air making it hard to breath. I heard the bodies of my comrades hit the cobbled ground with a thud. An almighty bang shook the barricade. another grapeshot had torn open the left side. I ducked as a bullet shot barely centimetres from my head. The wooden beams were stained with blood. Someone took my gun from my grasp before I could stop them and frantically tried to shoot, but their hands were shaking with fear and they were soon shot down by the enemy. Suddenly, a new feeling washed over me: guilt. I had lead these brave men to their graves in the name of Patria, in the name of freedom. But I had failed. So many brave souls had fallen here, their blood was on my hands. I hauled myself to the top of the barricade and grasped the flag. I pulled away the ties and raised the flag above my head. _

_**Red, the blood of angry men, black, the dark of ages past.**_

_I waved it through the haze of smoke, my final tribute to Patria. Suddenly, a bullet tore though my chest, but I couldn't feel the pain. Instead, I felt strangely at peace. I saw bright light, then darkness._

_**Red, a world about to dawn, black, the night that ends at last.**_

_I was flying. Falling. Falling. Fall-_

I mentally jumped as I snapped back to reality. No. No! I couldn't embrace reality. Why couldnt I just die along with my comrades. I couldn't bring myself to list the names of the friends I had grown up with, the friends who had fought by my side. The friends who had died for my cause. Coward. I was a good for nothing coward. I didn't deserve to die. I deserved to live with the guilt. A lone tear made its way down my face. Suddenly, there was a hand on my shoulder.

"Monsieur?" a familiar voice asked, the only sound to be heard in the dull light of the dawn.

I looked at the person leaning over me. I thought I was seeing Patria, that she had come to save me from the hell of living, but my vision focused and I saw one of the _gamine_ looking down at me. Her hair and eyes were a chocolate brown, her eyes concerned yet wary. I recognised her as a friend of Marius. I searched my tired brain for a name. _Eponine._ Was she dead too?

"Am I dead, mademoiselle?"


	3. Defiance

_**Thanks for all the views! I'm writing this fanfic more for my own enjoyment so I might not update that much. This is my first fanfic so be nice, but I like constructive criticism! I now its not that good, but I'm working on it.**_

_**Copyright: I DO NOT OWN LES MISERABLES! There I said it, can I go and cry in a corner now?**_

**Eponine POV**

The revolutionary looked up at me, his eyes glazy and off focus. I pitied but admired him. He was the leader of the rebellion, the rebellion that was supposed to bring peace, but many of us gamin were too scared to join him and his friends. I has been sat in an alleyway crying about monsieur Marius when I heard him gasp. I could have been imagining it, but I climbed cautiusly up the barricade anyway. I jumped backwards about five feet when he spoke. I studied the ragged wound on his chest. The blood around it was turning black and the bullet was embedded in the bone. It was bad. Very bad. He tried to sit up, his beautiful face twisted in agony. His eyes cleared and he looked at me. If I hadn't been moping about Marius all the time, maybe we could've been friends, acquaintances... No. He wouldn't care about someone like me. He was a God in the eyes of the people, the lover of Patria. I could see now, even lose to death, that he lived up to this image. Under his gaze I would usually feel small and insignificant, but now I felt safe, under protection. The care and pity in his eyes threw me. Then I realised he was waiting for an answer to a question; a question I had forgotten.

"Wha- I mean, pardon monsieur?" I stammered.

I saw amusement flicker across his face.

"I asked if I was dead, mademoiselle, but if this was death, you wouldn't be here." he answered calmly.

I opened and closed my mouth like a fish, not knowing what to say. Was that a compliment or an offence?

"I-I'm sorry monsieur? What do ya mean?"

Dammit! I was meant to sound sophisticated, but my street accent slipped through. The angel smiled.

"I'm sorry if I offended you mademoiselle, but that is not what I meant. I meant that if I was dead, I would be in hell. And if you were dead, you would be in heaven."

I was suddenly filled with anger. How could this angel, this God claim to go to hell? He who had lead an army against evil and almost died in the process. Then I realised. He blamed himself.

"No monsieur! This ain't your fault! They chose to fight the badduns with ya! They-"

"But who talked them into it?" the angel interrupted me, a sudden angry passion in his icey blue eyes. "I spoke of a world of justice and of freedom. They feasted on my words like innocent hungry children, filling them with hope. But they died for a lost cause. How were they to know? How were they to know that my words were empty promises? And now this is my punishment, to live with the guilt, and to look upon my friends bodies knowing it was my fault."

He gestured to the bodies littering the barricade. The look in his eyes had turned from anger, to endless pain. This was not physical pain, this was pain of the worst kind: guilt. He gazed sadly up at the rising sun.

"Monsieur-" I started, but the angel cut me off.

"Please mademoiselle, just call me Enjolras. There is no need for formalities at this time."

Enjolras! Of course! I had only heard this name spoken once or twice, other times he was only addressed as 'Apollo' or 'Monsieur'.

"Alright then, En-jol-ras, if I call you by your first name, you will call me by mine. My name is-"

"Eponine." he interrupted me again. "Your name is Eponine Thenardier."

I cringed at the sound of my last name.

"Please mons- I mean Enjolras. Just call me Eponine, I'm not that fond of me family name."

Enjolras smiled and nodded. Then I realised that he had taken me off subject.

"Anyway, Enjolras, its not your fault." I tried to persuade him. "Ya weren't knowing that this was gonna 'appen. Ya thought everything was gonna go well, but it didn't. They died for a good cause, and ya nearly died too. We need ya around, Enjy. Do ya mind if I call you that cos your real names a bit of a mouthful?"

Enjolras smiled and nodded again. Is that all he does? I thought.

"But yeah, we need ya around to tell the story. Otherwise no-one will remember what happened."

I could see by the look in his eyes that he could be as stubborn as me at times, and that he didn't really believe what I was saying.

"I can see the truth in your words, madem- Eponine, you have a lot of wisdom. But it will never change the feel of guilt in my heart. I would be better for everyone if I died here."

It was hard to resist the natural charisma in his voice, but I glared at him.

"I'm not leaving you here, Enjy."

He glared defiantly back at me.

"You cannot make me move."

I thought desperately of something to say. Come on! What happen to the Thendardier persuasion skills?

"So this is where is ends is it? The almighty Enjolras, the champion of Patria that fought bravely for freedom of the people dies on the dawn after the barricades because he's too lazy to get up? Because he's ridden with guilt? Or does he rise bravely, even with a nasty looking bullet wound to gather his strength and fight again?" I almost shouted. "Take your pick, but I know which one sounds better in the history books."

He glared at me, trying not the let my words make sense. But they did. His grimaced and hauled himself to his feet. I tried to look brave, but inside my insides were turning into mush under the weight of his glare. This was not a man I wanted to get on the wrong side of. I admired his strength as his stood atop the barricade once again, blood splashed down his shirt, the gold on his waistcoat shining in the sun. His face was set in defiance, and the bright light had returned to his eyes. He looked down at me again, his gaze softer.

"I'm doing this for the people, not for myself."

All I could do was nod as the golden Apollo made his way down the barricade.


	4. Mourning

_**I have just caught the writers block plague and am finding it really hard to write, so this might be the last chapter! I'm sorry that its so short, but like I said I couldnt think of anything to write and I needed to bring this story to an end. Au revoir!**_

_**Copyright: How many times do I have to say it? I DONT OWN LES MIS! Happy now that you've corrupted my life!? **_

**10 years Later**

The sky was filled with dull grey clouds. Rain fell steadily from the heavens as the church bells tolled, ricocheting across the graveyard. The pavestones were wet and slippery and two pairs of feet made towards a lonely gravestone beneath a lonely tree. A young couple stood under a black umbrella in silent mourning. However, they were not the only ones in the graveyard. A gamine wrapped in a trenchcoat watched them from behind one of the yew trees, silent tears falling from her face. She wept soundlessly in her own mourning. On her own. Her hand moved to a cravat around her neck, then to a small silver band around her finger. Her radiant eyes were filled with sorrow for her long lost friend. But yet again, she was not alone. A woman, a beautiful woman in the clothes of the street gamin watched from the dark archway of the church. She wore silver tears of her own on her porcelin face. She shook her head.

"Such a pure soul." she sighed. "Another life gone. Too soon. Far too soon."

Suddenly, a chink of light broke through the clouds and rested on the grave. There, engraved in the moss covered granite, was a single name.

**Enjolras**

_**I kinda confused myself writing this chapter. I was thinking, should I write a sequel about the 10 year gap, or should I leave it there?**_


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